


A Cradle Song

by RequiemForTheWolves



Category: James Bond (Craig movies), James Bond (Movies), James Bond - All Media Types
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Angst, Bondlock, Cliche, Depressed James, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mpreg, The Author Regrets Everything, af, apparent character death, smol bond child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-15
Updated: 2016-03-15
Packaged: 2018-05-27 00:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6261295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RequiemForTheWolves/pseuds/RequiemForTheWolves
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"The greatest griefs are those we cause ourselves."<br/>- Sophocles, Oedipus Rex<br/>_____________<br/>"At least I can assure you that you will come home." Sherlock’s voice held a quiet, deadly accuracy. He was an archer with his bow pulled taunt, arrow ready to snap free and drive his point home. "Being dead temporarily and being dead permanently are two very different things, little brother."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Cradle Song

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from William Blake's "Song of Innocence."
> 
> I really procrastinated so much on this fic you guys. It's because I feel it reads like a cliche romance novel, but I've done multiple drafts, so at this point I guess that's what it's going to be. I suppose that's what most of us come here to read anyway, so I'm sure it'll be fine.
> 
> Self beta-ed and not brit-picked.

"The game is almost over, but I need your help. I can't finish this without you."

Q stopped his typing to look up at his brother who was looming over him, hands braced against the dining table and heavy Beta cologne taking up all the extra space in the room. The Alpha's eyes were the closest thing to pleading Q had ever seen on him. "No."

Sherlock's brows furrowed. He hadn't counted on being turned down. "Why not?"

The Omega didn't answer, simply kept his gaze locked with his brother's. The Alpha was frazzled and exhausted, as well as drowning in the stress of long term separation from his mate Still, he would figure it out eventually. When he did he took a step back, flinching as if Q had reached out and slapped him. "You're pregnant." Q began typing again, filling out yet another lost equipment form because bloody double-oh three couldn't be bothered to do it himself. "How long have you known?"

"Two days." There were still five different pregnancy tests lined up in a neat row on the bathroom counter, along with a more expensive one proclaiming that he was six weeks along.

"James?"

"Won't be back from South Africa for at least another month." It was a good thing Q was much better at dealing with separation than his brother. Then again, he was in a flat filled with the scent of his mate. Every time he felt the pang of separation anxiety he could just put on one of James’ jumpers.

"Does he know?"

"Of course not.” Q scoffed. “I am a professional you know." The minute James knew it would be all the Alpha would be able to think about. Not that Q didn’t trust his mate to complete the mission and come home safe, but he wasn’t going to make the man’s job any harder.

"I didn't know you were trying for children." Sherlock had the audacity to sound offended, as if he hadn't been off playing dead for the past two and a half years.

"I didn't imagine you would. James is close to mandatory retirement though, so we thought the timing good. I know what you're asking me to do entails, Sherlock. It's been hard enough for me to conceive as it is. If I lose this child I may never get another one." He didn't think he would be able to look his mate in the eyes and tell him that he had lost their only hope of a family by following around his idiot brother.

Sherlock finally sat in the chair across from Q and the Omega closed his laptop. "I don't think that you can afford to simply be on defense though. Despite my best efforts there are people who have been sniffing around your files. Even if you don't try for a counter attack you may end up dying anyway."

"I work for MI6, Sherlock." Q snapped. "I hardly think I'm ever in much danger. Besides, I've seen what your death has done to John.” Sherlock flinched at the mention of his mate. “I can't break James like that. Especially now that my scent will be changing any day. I can't come back from this escapade to an empty flat."

"At least I can assure you that you will come home." Sherlock’s voice held a quiet, deadly accuracy. He was an archer with his bow pulled taunt, arrow ready to snap free and drive his point home. "Being dead temporarily and being dead permanently are two very different things, little brother."

Q swallowed, looked down to trace his fingers along the logo atop his computer. "I'll think about it."

"Here." Sherlock slid a small, folded piece of paper across the table. "You can reach me there. Text, don't call." Q nodded, and Sherlock left the flat with only the lingering scent of stress and Beta cologne in his wake.

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


It was two weeks later and Q paused in lifting a mug of tea to his lips. He hadn’t seen who had left it for him, too busy finding holes in Peruvian firewalls to take notice, but he knew how Early Grey was supposed to smell. The usual orange scent was laced with bitter almonds, and Q quickly put the mug down.

Someone had put cyanide in his tea.

Q pulled out his phone, drafting a message to his newest contact entry.

> _I'm in. - Q_
> 
> _Meet me at Mycroft's. 8pm. We have much to discuss. - SH_

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


> _On my way home. - JB_
> 
> _Was on my way to store. I'll detour and meet you @ the bridge. - Q_
> 
> _K. I see you. - JB_

Bond pocketed his phone as he made his way over to where Q was staring down at his own device. His mate was standing in the middle of the bridge, leaning back on the railing as he stopped to scan the flow of people around him, searching for James. The November day was cold and the wind crisp, with promises of snow later. The boffin had been forced to trade out his favorite, lighter jacket for his thick parka. James was distracted thinking of the firewood he would buy at the store so he could curl up with his mate in the living room when someone grabbed hold of the Omega. He was large, features obscured by the black hoodie he wore, and James was still a few yards away when the man lifted Q above the railing by the front of his jacket. Bond broke into a run, pushing people out of the way as he raced to get there.... But he was too far away.

For a few moments Q was held suspended, eyes wide but not struggling, before the man dropped him, sending him plummeting into the Thames. Bond's direction shifted immediately, sending him not after the quickly retreating man but instead into the water below. He could hear the screams of shocked pedestrians following him up until the moment he hit the water.

The cold was a shock to his system, all of the breath rushing out of him as soon as he hit, forcing him to resurface immediately. He prayed that Q would resurface as well, that he would break through the water splashing and gasping so that Bond could pull his mate to shore. But Q never appeared. He tried diving under, searching for a glimpse of pale skin in the darkness of the Thames. However, the water was too murky, too thick. It burned his eyes and he couldn't see a thing.

As the minutes passed Bond grew more desperate. He knew the more time that passed the less likely he was to find a warm body to drag out with him. Finally, a commotion rose on a nearby tour boat, and James watched as they pulled a limp figure out of the river. He swam over, pulling himself up onto the side of the craft despite how his soaked layers tried to weigh him down. Q was lying prone and pale on the white bottom of the boat, eyes closed as if under the water he had made peace with the fact that he was going to die. James grabbed for his hand and his fingers were cold. The river had washed away all presence of his scent, and when Bond held two fingers against the Omega's wrist...he felt nothing.

People were moving all around them and one bumped into Bond, his uneven balance on the very edge of the craft sending him slipping off and back into the water. Bodies had crowded to block his view, and the Alpha was forced to swim to another side to pull himself up where he wouldn't be pushed off again. A few concerned tourists rushed at him as well, trying to help him out of saturated clothes and into emergency blankets kept on the boat. He didn't care, barely noticed them, eyes focused only on Q a few feet away as a man proclaiming he was a doctor shoved his way to the front. He wanted to get up, to go over there, to reach for his Omega, but his weary limbs couldn't lift him from his knees. When the doctor called out that Q was dead Bond's numb body collapsed into a heap on the boat's floor.

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


Bond didn't know what to do with an empty flat. Q was the one accustomed to him being gone for months at a time. He didn't know what to do with the scent of Omega that was over a day old.

He couldn't sleep in their bed. It was too cold and too large, designed to be more of a nest than anything, and what good is a nest without an Omega to keep it? Bond slept on the couch. Q had spent enough time lounging in it while working on his laptop or watching TV that it smelled strongly enough of him, honey and tea and oranges having sunken into the cushions with only a hint of rain that spoke of Bond's time there.

MI6 took care of the funeral, which is to say that Eve planned everything. The only thing she asked of him was whether Q had wanted to be buried or cremated. He told her to put him next to his fake grave, the one they would finally put him in one day, and left it at that.

He couldn’t remember much of the funeral. He had lingered at the back, watching the proceedings take place as if through a veil. He didn’t feel like he was there. The only moment of clarity he could recall was after everyone had left the cemetery barring Eve, who hung back as James finally approached the headstone.

She’d had an inscription printed at the bottom. “ _As I’ve read love’s missal through today / He’ll let me sleep.” - John Keats_. James traced the words with his fingers as thunder rolled overhead.

He placed a hand on the cold stone, opened his mouth to speak (of what he didn’t know: apologies, regrets, farewells) but no sound came out. His knees gave out from under him, sending him into the recently disturbed dirt of the grave. Some ungodly sound pierced the air, from where he didn’t know, until he realized he was screaming. He couldn’t seem to be able to stop, could only clutch at the headstone as if it were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. Eve kept watch over him, even once the rain broke through the clouds and her mascara ran in black tracks down her cheeks. When he had pushed himself to the point of exhaustion, could only shake as he plastered himself against the unforgiving stone, Eve finally came to pull him away. He couldn’t fight her, didn’t have the strength left to even try, and she took him back to her flat to make sure he slept through the night.

He was back at MI6 on Monday morning, a shell of his former self standing in front of Mallory’s desk, demanding to be sent out on a mission. M seemed mostly resigned, as if he were expecting such a thing to happen. Everyone knew the survival instinct of a double-oh was too strong for them to simply kill themselves. They had to find another way out when they no longer wished to be around. Unfortunately, it would not be the last time during Mallory’s tenure that an agent would ask to be sent to their death.

The problem arose when Bond still couldn’t seem to be able to die. He would go on the most dangerous missions they had unassisted, would refuse to call for MedEvac even when most sane people would, longed for a permanent sleep to finally take him with every breath he took, but still he managed to live another day. He was so tired, had lost so many, he just needed his battered body to finally give out on him.

There must have been some god that hated him. Where everyone else died, for some reason he remained.

When he wasn’t on a mission he spent most of his time comatose. When he couldn’t do that anymore he drank. He would sit on his floor hoping he could drink himself to death, that his alcohol hazed brain would finally just let him slip away.

After a month the scent of Q had completely disappeared from the couch, overlaid with that of rain and old stone and cold wind across the moor until it was gone. Bond had lingered in the doorway of the bedroom for what was probably hours, staring at the closed door as he contemplated whether or not he was strong enough to open it. Eventually he managed it, the quickest of trips, only enough to grab Q's pillow from the bed and then rush out. The scent in the room was stale, but with Bond's previous absence it was all Q. He slammed the door shut behind him as if by not doing so it would all escape.

He collapsed onto the couch afterward, a bottle of whiskey on the coffee table, half gone and waiting for him. He pushed the downy pillow against his face, gasping in the scent as if it were the only air he could breathe.

It took him a while to notice the difference. It was subtle but unmistakable hidden under Q's presence, a soft, fresh, milky scent that clung to the pillow case as well. It wasn’t something James was intimately familiar with, but he knew distinctly what is was.

Bond hadn't cried in weeks. He had done everything he could to keep moving, to not think. If he gave the loneliness his attention it would overwhelm him. However, with Q's pillow clutched tightly to his chest, James curled in on himself and sobbed for the things that he had lost.

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


It took four months and Eve coming through his flat like a tornado for Bond to begin sorting through things. The last traces of Q's scent were left to a few zipped up garment bags that Bond hoarded in the back of his closet, and Eve told him that if not go through things it was time for him to at least clean. He was tempted to stop after disposing of all the bottles and finally washing his sheets, but he managed to go through the papers and old mail that had built up on the dining table as well.

He found the post-it note stuck to the top of Q's laptop, something he hadn't dared touch, and had honestly been grateful about when it disappeared under unopened envelopes. He considered taking a hammer to the piece of machinery, but then realized that Q-branch would probably want to recover from it whatever they could. (If they could get past Q's security, of course. Not even James knew the Omega's password). The note was bright yellow and stuck directly over the computer's logo.

> _James,_
> 
> _Don't believe_
> 
> _everything_
> 
> _you see._
> 
> _-Q_

James took the note and stuck it, eye level, onto the wall next to him.

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


Q’d had eyes on the flat for a few days, waiting until someone in Sherlock's homeless network alerted him to James leaving. He had finished the job his brother set out for him and had carried out his own mission in the process, purging MI6 of anyone he had found with underground connections that they shouldn't have had. Sherlock need only to make one more kill before he could return to his mate. In the meantime though, Q was going home.

Surprisingly enough not much had changed in the flat, and Q's heart ached for the way his mate must have suffered, for how he obviously still hadn't moved on from his mourning. He wanted his Alpha like he wanted a knife removed from his chest. He had spent too many days, weeks, months, shut up in a safe house with no one else to talk to except for the occasional visits from his brothers. For the most part it had been just him and the computer he used to wreak havoc.

He went into the laundry room and pulled one of James' jumpers out of the multiple piles of dirty clothes that had built up. The garment was big, even for the Alpha, so it fit easily over Q's baby bump of six months. He lifted the collar up to his nose, breathing in deep the smell of thunder storms and cold winds. He curled up on the couch to wait for the return of his mate, drawing the blankets there around himself so that he could make a cocoon of James’ scent.

When the door opened Q held his breath, not moving as his mate entered the living room. He looked like death frozen over, dark bags under his eyes and scruff longer than he ever kept it. His shoulders were hunched, defeated, like all of the fight had gone out of him. Q let out the smallest of whimpers.

James' eyes snapped to him, and the grocery bag in his hands dropped to the floor, bottles clanging together. Q supposed he should stand, present himself before his Alpha and take whatever reaction the other man wanted to give him. He found himself unable to move though, remaining curled around his child as a light scent of fear emitted from his skin. In any other situation he could face an unpredictable Alpha with ease, but the past few months he'd had to become hyper aware of any abuse his body might take.

Bond’s eyes narrowed, disbelieving. “This is a hallucination, right?”

Q offered him a sad smile. “I’m afraid not.”

Bond stumbled his way over to the bar, the closest thing he could use to brace against as he hunched over. “God damnit, Q.” He rubbed at his face, raked a hand through his hair. When the anger built into a peak he hurled a near empty bottle of bourbon at the wall, shattering it across the floor. “Fuck!” His head dropped into his hands as his breaths became ragged.

Q barely flinched at James’ outburst, but sat on the sofa with blankets pulled up to his nose. Tendrils of guilt gripped at his heart as he watched his mate suffer.

“I’m gonna be sick.” James proclaimed as he quickly stalked off to the bathroom. Q waited for a moment before getting up as well, dragging his blankets with him as he followed his Alpha. He found James with arms braced against the sink, breaths deep and haggard, occasionally catching on a sob. He leaned against the outside of the doorway, tentative in his approach.

“I _am_ sorry.” Q swallowed as James’ knuckles turned white on the edge of the counter top. “I can explain.”

James took a moment to splash water on his face, rubbing vigorously and not bothering to dry it. “I sure would like to hear it.”

“Someone tried to kill me.” James’ head snapped up, eyes alight. Q continued unheeded. “My brother Sherlock is alive, as well. He’s been hunting down and dismantling an underground unit of organized crime for the last three years. Five months ago he asked for my help. At first I refused him. I had just found out that I was pregnant and I didn’t want to put you through that. But then someone in Q-branch poisoned my tea. I couldn’t risk sticking close to find out who, so I took Sherlock up on his offer and disappeared. Since then I’ve gotten rid of every rat MI6 has.”

James swallowed, gaze mournful. “You couldn’t have told me? Couldn’t have let me help?”

Q shook his head, pulling the blankets closer around himself. “We had to make it believable. If someone suspected I might still be alive they may have come after you in order to get to me. Sherlock left his mate behind for the same reason.” James leaned against the opposite side of the door frame, their faces close, and Q couldn’t help the tears that welled up in his eyes. His emotions had been such a fucking mess as of late. “I know that I can’t just ask you to forgive me, and you have every right to be mad. I just missed you so much, and-” He broke off into a sob and tried to cover his face. James’ fingers found his cheeks though, gently brushing away his tears.

“This can’t happen again.”

Q shook his head. He knew they both wouldn’t survive a second time. “It won’t.”

James’ whole hand cupped Q’s cheek, thumb stroking at the lingering moisture under his eye. Q placed a hand on Bond’s, nuzzling into his Alpha’s palm. “How did you do it?”

Q breathed out a sigh, his breath tickling James' wrist. “A lot of actors. Everyone on the boat and the man who threw me over the bridge were all hired. The doctor who announced me dead is a friend of Mycroft's. We knew he had to be genuine since you would likely look into him. I put a small rubber ball under my armpit when I was underwater to stop the pulse in my arm. It was fairly simple really. Or at least less complicated that Sherlock's.”

James sighed, stroking a knuckle along Q's cheek. “What happened to the baby?

Q gave a gentle smile. He let the blankets around him drop, revealing his small bump to Bond. With his thin frame he only had so much room for a baby, but the doctor that had paid him occasional visits told him it would be alright. At birth their child would be small, but they would grow later on in life. He could tell they were doing fine by the occasional kicks and turns they would do.

James glanced at Q for permission, and when the Omega nodded he stepped closer and placed both hands on his stomach. It radiated warmth, a beacon of comfort and home. James rested his forehead against Q’s, and the brunet took one of his hands and moved it under his layer of clothes, resting it against smooth, hot skin. James felt a flutter of movement under his palm and all of his breath rushed out of him at once.

“Do you know the gender yet?” He didn’t know why but his voice had lowered to an almost whisper.

“No. A friend of Mycroft’s was giving me house calls, but I haven’t been to a proper doctor yet.” James’ whole body tensed with worry. Q rolled his eyes. “Please James, people have been having children long before there were sterile rooms and ultra sounds.”

“We’ll take you to the doctor as soon as we can.” The Alpha promised. He nuzzled at Q’s temple and the Omega felt tears well up once again. He wrapped his arms around James’ neck, pulling him close. The Alpha responded in kind, hands warm and strong against Q’s back. They didn’t fit together the way they used to, but instead cradled their new treasure in between their bodies, keeping it safe.

James scented Q’s neck, familiarizing himself with the added layer of milk and baby’s breath, and Q’s chest heaved. “I’m so sorry, James.” He cried weakly into the other man’s shoulder.

James raked a hand through thick brown curls, shushing his mate. “I’m glad you’re home, Q.”

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


Unfortunately, before Bond could drag his Omega to the doctor’s for a checkup the necessary paperwork for coming back to life had to be filled out and processed first, forcing them to wait for at least a week. In the meantime, Q decided he should probably let MI6 know he was still around and properly explain himself to them. Depending on how that went he could then try and ask for his job back.

Whereas Bond had been a bit clingy at home he was no less than Q's shadow when they went outside. He remained always mere inches away from his Omega, touching even briefly whenever he could as if to reestablish his mate's presence next to him. It felt a little claustrophobic at times, but Q didn't have the heart to tell him to stop, not if it brought the Alpha any sort of relief from his ever increasing anxiety over his family’s safety.

Surprisingly enough everyone at Six was pretty blasé about Q still being alive. It seemed he had forgotten just how common faked deaths were in his line of work.

Despite having run the branch quite well while he was gone, R was only too happy to offer Q his job back once he was set to return from maternity leave. In the meantime, they gave him work he could do from home to prevent him from going out of his mind with boredom when he was practically confined to the flat, both from being too uncomfortable to get out much and from his Alpha's near overbearing protectiveness.

Six days after Q came back Mycroft called to let him know that all of the paperwork was correctly in place for his return to the living. As soon as James heard he promptly made an appointment for them to go see a doctor. The next day they were in an examination room, Q reclined back as a doctor set up the equipment they would need to see their baby.

“Are you nervous?” Q asked as James held his hand, plastic chair scooted as close to his mate as he could get.

“Of course not.” James huffed.

“Are you sure?” Q teased, smile wide. “It’s okay to be nervous. This is a big moment.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’m not nervous.”

“James,” Q admonished, “you’ve been tapping your foot since you sat down. You never get nervous ticks like that.” James glared without much malice at his mate for being called out. Q’s smile widened as he kissed the back of James’ hand. When the machinery was finally up and running a grainy image of their pup appeared on the screen, a small thumb already stuck in the baby's mouth.

“Looks like a very healthy baby you two have there.” The doctor informed them, her smile bright and cheerful. “Would you like to know the gender?” Q nodded, near ready to burst with excitement. “Congratulations daddies, it looks like you'll be having a little girl.”

Bond didn’t even acknowledge her. He couldn’t stop staring at the low quality image of their pup, barely daring to breathe.

“James?” Q asked gently, rubbing his thumb over the back of his mate’s hand. “Love, you’re crying.”

James jerked as he came back to himself, quickly wiping at his eyes. Their doctor was all smiles as she offered to print them out a picture. Q thanked her politely before grabbing James’ face and placing a kiss to his forehead. James’ hands found his mate’s wrists, stroked circles into the soft flesh as another tear slipped unbidden down his cheek.

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


It was Q's phone going off that pulled James from his sleep, and he came up gasping, sweat cooling against his skin as he jerked up in bed. He shook himself, trying to will away the image of Q sinking to the depths of the river, James unable to reach him no matter how furiously he swam. His Omega was next to him, only half awake and heavy with a pup of nine months. Still groggy, Q ran a hand up and down his Alpha's chest, trying to soothe.

James took a moment to simply breathe, letting the mixture of scents that made up their bedroom wash over him and slow his erratic pulse. Q dropped back off next to him fairly quickly, so contrary to the near insomnia he had when his body wasn't wearing him out each day. James reached for the phone casting a dim blue light on the night stand, a bit more of a task than before since their bed had become more nest than anything. The text ID read “ _the less annoying one_ ,” so James deemed it probably important enough for him to open the message.

> _Sherlock made a mistake._
> 
> _The last hit failed. Too_
> 
> _late for him to go back_
> 
> _undercover now. She's_
> 
> _still out there. Be careful._
> 
> _-MH_

James set the phone back on the nightstand, though it balanced precariously on the edge. The Alpha was torn between wanting to get up and recheck that all of the windows were locked and the alarm was set and not wanting to leave his Omega alone, even in their bedroom. His protective instincts were bad enough as it was. With this new development he doubted he would be able to let Q out of his sight until the issue was resolved. In the meantime, he curled around his mate, one hand coming to rest on the walther he kept strapped between the mattress and the headboard. He didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

  
  


-_-_-_-_-_-_-

  
  


Were James anything other than an overly paranoid spy, sneaking in through the nursery window probably would have been a good idea. It would have provided the woman direct access to their child, which she could then use against them. Except James was a spy, or at least had been, one of the best even, so sneaking into his flat at all was generally an all around bad idea. It hadn't been incredibly hard, after all, for the Alpha to notice the watch on the house. It was also quite obvious that someone had broken in to familiarize themselves with the layout of the flat while the family had been out at the park earlier that day. After that it wasn’t hard to figure out where the woman's point of entry would be.

He had waited for her in the shadows, just out of view of the window that let the only light into the room, dim streetlights and a waning moon. His trigger finger twitched the moment her red hair was visible to him, but he refrained. He waited until she had opened the window from the outside and slithered into the room. With the addition of a silencer his gun only gave a dull pop as a bullet went through her forehead.

He dismantled the gun quickly before putting it back in its usual hiding place under the changing table, reminding himself to come back and clean it later. He took out his phone and hit the second speed dial, letting it ring against his ear as he picked up the baby doll he had pretended to put to bed by the leg and tossed it back into the closet.

Alec picked up on the fourth ring. “ _Yea?_ ”

“I need to call in a favor. You know that clean up job I talked to you about?”

The other man groaned. “ _Yea, I'll be over in a bit._ ”

“Thanks. Try not to make too much noise. Q and Olivia are asleep in the bedroom. Just pour some watered down bleach on the blood stains or something. I'll deal with it later.”

After hanging up James made his way down the hall and into the bedroom. He'd have to text Mycroft in the morning that the threat had been eliminated, but for the time being he retreated under the covers of his bed, curling up close to his mate who stirred slightly. Olivia slept on against his chest, oblivious to her parents shifting about.

“Go back to sleep.” Bond murmured into the Omega's hair, one large hand coming to rest on their daughter's back as he settled down for sleep himself. Alec would be by soon but Bond trusted him. For now, he could rest knowing his family was safe.

 


End file.
